


Penance

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Bad Touch Peter Hale, Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Daddy Kink, Discipline, Face-Fucking, Grooming, M/M, POV Peter Hale, Peter Hale is Stiles Stilinski's Parent, Pseudo-Incest, Sexual Coercion, Steter Week 2019, headmaster peter hale, mentions of corporal punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-28 13:54:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20065117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: Peter leans back in his chair, staring at his boy as he considers what to do. “Because you are my son, I’m going to give you a choice. You can either bare your arse for a strapping,” he pauses and watches the colour drain from Stiles’s cheeks at the thought—Peter’s a mean hand with the strap, as all his schoolboys know—“or you can spend an hour or two under my desk, putting me in a better mood to intercede with Mr. Harris for you.”





	Penance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bunnywest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/gifts).

> This was prompted by Bunny, and cheerled by Green and DenaCeleste. I disclaim all responsibly for this _shocking_ filth. I know that I'm daddy kink trash, and we ALL know I was gonna post something for today, but this one was not my fault. 
> 
> But, uh. Happy Steter week!

When he first took the boy in, Peter didn’t think he’d ever find the satisfaction in parenthood he’d heard others talk about. Never thought that he’d get anything out of it but the rest of his family off his back about marriage and children, as if he doesn’t get enough of the insufferable whelps at his school. Watching his adopted son slink into his office for discipline, he’s never been so glad to be wrong.

Still. He’s the headmaster—he can’t afford to be lenient. Might give the appearance of favouritism. “And why, pray tell, are you in my office for the second time this week?”

Stiles gives him a tight smile and waves a note before handing it over. Peter skims it, and finds himself unsurprised that the science tutor has sent his son in for discipline yet again. He looks at his boy across the tops of his spectacles. “Are you ever going to stop antagonizing Mr. Harris, or do you simply crave my attention so much that you’ll deliberately misbehave to get it?”

Pale, mole-spotted cheeks flush. “I don’t deliberately antagonize him, but I fail to see how a tutor—in science, no less!—can hope to be of use to students when he considers answering our questions beneath him.”

A valid criticism, in truth. However, “Be that as it may, this is apparently the third time you’ve disrespected him this week alone. And I do not tolerate disrespect at my school.”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles mumbles, staring at his feet.

Peter leans back in his chair, staring at his boy as he considers what to do. “Because you are my son, I’m going to give you a choice. You can either bare your arse for a strapping,” he pauses and watches the colour drain from Stiles’s cheeks at the thought—Peter’s a mean hand with the strap, as all his schoolboys know—“or you can spend an hour or two under my desk, putting me in a better mood to intercede with Mr. Harris for you.”

The boy’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “How many hits with the strap, sir?”

Peter smirks, knowing his son well enough to know that the boy is trying to weigh his odds. Peter decides to give him a little push in the right direction. “Oh, at least ten. Wouldn’t do for you sit comfortably through your afternoon lessons after causing trouble for the second time this week.”

“Let me serve under your desk? Please, Daddy?”

Heat blooms in his gut hearing that, and Peter breathes carefully so as not to harden. “Very well.” He stands, and moves his chair out of the way. He watches as the boy clambers under his desk—at fifteen, it’s a tighter fit than it used to be, especially with the way his shoulders have begun to broaden.

Still, it’s not long before beseeching doe eyes look up at him. “Whenever you’re ready, Daddy.”

Peter cocks his head, listening, but everything seems quiet outside his office. Assured they won’t be interrupted, he unbuckles his belt and unzips his trousers before moving his chair towards the desk and taking his seat again—albeit with much poorer posture than he usually holds himself with.

But the undignified slouch is well worth it for the way nimble hands carefully pluck at his clothing and free his cock. He holds his breath, waiting to see if his boy will try to avoid the chosen penance, but he’s trained the lad well—his mostly-soft cock is enfolded in lush heat a moment later as the warm weight of Stiles’s head settles on his thigh. He smooths a hand over the closely-shorn hair, and wills himself not to rise to the occasion.

There’ll be time for that later. For now, he enjoys his boy’s subtle attempts to please him—because the lad knows his forgiveness hasn’t been earned until he’s swallowed down his Daddy’s come—while he tries to finish reading the report on his desk. He doesn’t take much of it in, nor does he make a true effort to focus—it’s merely a prop, a way to enjoy having his sweet boy at his feet a little longer.

When he feels Stiles shifting under the desk, trying to ease the ache in undoubtedly-bruised knees, he feels it’s time. He rocks his hips slightly, feathering a finger across one downy cheek and down to the chapped lips encasing him. Stiles makes a little noise, and suckles gently, working his tongue against the underside of his Daddy’s cock.

It feels good, too good to fight, so Peter doesn’t. He widens his thighs and lets his son suckle and slurp him to hardness. Once erect, he slides free for a moment to take that sweet face into his hands, massaging the hinge of his boy’s jaw. “I control it this time, you understand?”

Stiles nods in lieu of a reply. He’s probably parched. Peter brings his now-lukewarm tea to those swollen lips, and Stiles gulps it gratefully, despite frequent teasing for the lack of sugar. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Every time those words fall from his boy’s lips adds fuel to the fire. “Are you ready to serve out the rest of your penance?”

“Yes, Daddy,” he whispers, and then he takes Peter as deep as he can.

Well. As deep as he can _comfortably_, at any rate. But he knows what’s coming, has his hands braced on his Daddy’s thick thighs and doesn’t fight when Peter cups the back of his head with both hands, breathes deep when he’s told and tries to relax.

The first touch of his Daddy’s cock to the back of his throat still makes him gag, no matter how many times they do this, but that’s alright. He withdraws for a moment, and on the next push, goes a little deeper, over and over until he’s fully encased in his boy’s throat, and he pauses for a moment to revel in the hot clutch around his cock and the tears leaking down his son’s face. When he rocks back this time, he doesn’t go far—he’s ready to come, now, no longer interested in drawing it out.

So he snaps his hips and forces his boy’s head to move into every thrust, the choked gurgles in response music to his ears. He doesn’t fight the pleasure building in his gut, tingling at the base of his spine, and soon enough, he’s coming inside that obedient mouth, spilling across his boy’s clever tongue.

He slumps after, boneless in the aftermath of pleasure, running his fingers through his boy’s short hair as Stiles pants harshly against his hip. After a long moment, he makes a cursory inspection, and notes with great satisfaction that his boy did very well indeed—swallowing his Daddy’s come without spilling a drop to mar the headmaster’s trousers.

“Well done, lad,” he murmurs, and gets a soft hum in response. Which. That won’t do—he knows he taught his son better manners than that. So he slides a hand under the still-smooth jaw, and tips his boy’s face up to meet his gaze. “What do you say?”

His son looks up at him, lips cracked and swollen, tear tracks down his face and clumping his eyelashes, and rasps, “Thank you, Daddy.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you're still interested in reading the things I write, you can also check me out on [Tumblr](https://queerfictionwriter.tumblr.com/).


End file.
